


The First Time

by strange_h3arts



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Silva, Bubble Bath, Dancing, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Rome | Roma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_h3arts/pseuds/strange_h3arts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond and Silva meet for the first time in Italy. Sexy antics ensue.</p><p>Thanks to dark-ival for helping me with my Italian! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

_roma, agosto 2003_

 

Bond had always loved Italy. The intense vibrancy of the streets, the delicious food, the beautiful women… once he was there, he never wanted to leave.

But unfortunately, this particular trip was strictly business-related. _And he couldn’t allow himself to relax for one second_ , Bond reminded himself as he extended his arms for the tailor to measure. He was currently in a haberdashery just outside of Rome, awaiting his custom-fitted tuxedo as he mentally reviewed specifics of his latest MI6 assignment.

 _At least the job was somewhat interesting_ , Bond mused as the tailor wrapped a measuring tape around his waist. And maybe if he could do it well, he would be another step closer to achieving double-oh ranking.

Wishful thinking, most likely. Bond was starting to believe that he would never catch M’s eye. At this point in his career, he had only spoken to her face-to-face once or twice. She seemed unimpressed. But then again, M was like that with everyone. _Bitch_ , thought Bond almost fondly as a small smile passed over his face.

The assignment seemed straightforward enough. Bond was to locate and capture a relatively unknown Italian internet terrorist, Raffaele Argento, who had been consistently attempting to break through MI6’s security system for at least a month now. Argento wasn’t a huge threat, per se; he had only managed to access the file server once for about five minutes before Q branch had shut him down. In fact, his whole method of operation seemed rather unsophisticated- techies had been able to track down his name and location in a manner of minutes. The man appeared to be so dense that it was almost as if he _wanted_ MI6 to find him.

Even if he was harmless, however, Argento was a nuisance, and M had decided that it was about time for someone to hunt him down and take him back to London for detainment. That was where Bond came in.

Bond had been in Rome for two days now, and he had yet to catch any sign of Argento’s whereabouts. That wasn’t unusual; most of these men had friends in high places. The question was: where to start?

“ _Buongiorno_ ,” Bond heard from somewhere behind him, interrupting his thoughts. The voice was deep, pleasant, and had a hint of a lilting accent that was ostensibly not Italian.

“ _Buon pomeriggio_ ,” Bond replied politely as he turned to face the stranger that had greeted him.

The man whom he laid eyes on was… _different._ He was tall and imposing, with tan skin, strange white-blonde hair, and dark heavy-lidded eyes. His nose looked as if it had been broken a few times. As Bond scrutinized him, the man’s full lips parted into a smile, revealing an even row of perfect white teeth. Handsome, yet at the same time off-putting. Bond instantly didn’t trust him.

The stranger appeared to be getting fitted for a white sport-coat. As the tailor circled them both with a mouthful of pins and a measuring tape in his hand, Bond noticed the man looking at his outfit with a thoughtful expression on his face. _“Allora, che ne pensa?”_  he asked, gesturing to his tuxedo. _[So, what do you think?]_

“ _Secondo me,il Suo smoking è perfetto,ma il farfallino è troppo… troppo noioso, signore-- ah, mi scusi, come si chiama Lei?_ " the man responded, his slightly predatory smile growing wider. _[In my opinion, your tuxedo is perfect, but the bowtie is too… too boring, Mr.-- ah, excuse me, what is your name?]_

“ _Mi chiamo_ Bond. James Bond _. E Lei?_ ”

“Raoul Silva _. Piacere_ ,” Silva offered, extending his hand. _[Pleased to meet you.]_

Bond took Silva’s warm hand and shook it, vaguely impressed with the strength of the other man’s handshake. “ _Molto lieto. E secundo me, la Sua camicia è un po’… sgarigante,_ ” Bond retorted, gesturing to the loud silk shirt the man was wearing under his custom-fitted white jacket. _[It’s a pleasure. And in my opinion, your shirt is a bit… ostentatious.]_

Silva laughed. “ _Lei sta scherzando! Questa camicia è di Giorgio Armani. Ma io lo so: Lei è un uomo tradizionale. È ammirevole- mi piace._ "  _[You’re joking! This shirt is Armani. But I know: you’re a traditional man. That’s commendable- I like it.]_

“ _Forse ha ragione. Ma mi scusi, Signor Silva- Lei è di Roma? Il Suo accento sembra più… spagnolo?_ ” _[Perhaps you’re right. But if I may, Mr. Silva, are you from Rome? Your accent seems more… Spanish?]_

“ _Sì, essattamente. Lei è molto perspicace! Sono di Sevilla, originariamente. E Lei viene dall’Inghilterra, presumo?_ ” _[Yes, exactly. You are very perceptive! I’m from Seville, originally. And you, you are from England, I presume?]_

“ _Sì. Parla inglese? Purtroppo, il mio italiano è abbastanza brutto_.” _[Yes. Do you speak English? Unfortunately, my Italian is somewhat lacking.]_

“ _No, è bravissimo!_ But yes, I do speak English,” Silva said, suddenly switching languages with ease. Bond noted that his accent was still present, lending his words an exotic lilt.

“Excellent,” Bond said, somewhat relieved. “So, Mr. Silva, what brings you to Rome?” he continued casually as the tailor pinned a seam on his shoulder. There was something slightly off about this man, the agent thought to himself. Something dangerous yet scintillating. Silva almost reminded Bond of himself.

“Ah, vacation.” This was obviously a lie, and Silva said it with a smirk, as if he was daring Bond to call his bluff. “What brings _you_ here, Mr. Bond?”

“Business trip,” Bond tossed out breezily, glancing at the other man out of the corner of his eye. Silva looked pleased.

“What kind of business?”

“Accounting. Not very interesting, I’m afraid,” Bond replied blithely, giving Silva his own challenging look. Two could play at this game.

“ _È quasi finito, signore_ ,” said the tailor, diffusing the building tension between the two men as he slipped the finished tuxedo jacket off of Bond’s shoulders. _[It’s almost finished, sir.]_ “ _Se vuole, ora può provarselo_ ,” he continued, handing the agent the jacket along with a tailored pair of pants and a white dress top. _[If you want, you can try it on now.]_

“ _Grazie_ ,” said Bond smoothly, taking the clothes from the tailor. He headed to the changing room, shooting Silva a smirk over his shoulder.

Bond pulled the curtain shut and began to remove his clothes. He slipped off his own shirt and slacks and tried on the tailored pants first, regarding his reflection in the mirror. Of course they fit perfectly- Italian tailors always knew what they were doing.

Bond reached for the white dress shirt and was beginning to pull it on when he was interrupted by the sound of the changing room curtain suddenly opening behind him.

And then Silva was standing in front of him, and Bond gaped in utter shock as the other man slipped his broad, warm hands about the agent’s unclothed waist. “ _Lasciami aiutarti_ ,” Silva exhaled, his warm breath sluicing over Bond’s neck and making him shiver. _[Allow me to help you.]_

“What the fuck?” Bond hissed, shoving Silva to the other side of the room and quickly pulling on the new shirt to cover his exposed chest. “Get out of here,” he growled, struggling to keep his voice down so as not to alarm anyone else in the store.

Laughing, Silva leaned back and raised both of his arms in an expression of innocence. “So testy, Mr. Bond! Isn’t the point of a business trip to unwind a bit, yes?”

“Perhaps, but this isn’t exactly what I had imagined,” Bond whispered testily, glaring hotly at the other man.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, hmm?” Silva murmured as he approached Bond and began undoing the few buttons Bond had managed to hastily fasten on his shirt. “Unless this isn’t your first time, of course,” Silva added with a tiny smirk as he traced a hand down Bond’s tanned chest, which was still smooth and not yet marred with scar tissue. “Why do I sense that it isn’t?” With one swift motion, he grabbed a pin from the collar of Bond’s jacket and pressed the tip gently to the agent’s throat, a tiny pinprick of blood pooling where the point dug into Bond’s skin. Bond gasped, and Silva chuckled. “Perhaps it’s for the same reason that I doubt that you’re an accountant. Or perhaps it’s because you look like you have a taste for the dangerous…”

Silva deftly slipped the pin back in place and lightly pressed his body against Bond’s, grazing his lips along the sensitive skin on the agent’s neck.

Temporarily paralyzed, for a moment Bond almost allowed himself to lean into the touch.

Then his training kicked in. _Jesus Christ, what was he doing? This man could be a terrorist, for all he knew. At this rate, he’d never be a double-oh if he kept letting his dick get in the way._

Bond pushed Silva away again, this time with somewhat less force. Noticing this, Silva grinned, exposing his perfect white teeth again.

“I see,” Silva said cryptically, sweeping his eyes over Bond’s body in a way that made the agent rather uncomfortable. “Well, Mr. Bond, it’s been a pleasure, but I really must be going. Although I may be on vacation, I’ve still got plenty to do,” he said playfully, and then he winked at Bond. _Winked at him._

 _“Ci vediamo. Arrivederci,”_ Silva said smoothly, the language rolling off his tongue with enviable ease. _[We’ll see each other. Goodbye.]_ Then before Bond knew what he was doing, the man leaned in and gave Bond a small kiss, momentarily running a wide hand through the agent’s shortly cropped hair. Then, after bestowing a tiny nip on Bond’s lower lip, Silva withdrew with a lewd smile and was gone, traces of his spicy cologne still lingering in the cramped room.

Bond touched his lip with a stunned expression, feeling where Silva had almost broken the skin. _Well._

Feeling somewhat awkward, the agent made himself presentable and returned his new clothes to the tailor, avoiding the curious eyes of the other customers. 


	2. We Meet Again

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Bond broke into a Mafia-owned warehouse and held three men at gunpoint, demanding them to tell him what they knew about Argento. Unfortunately, nobody knew whom he was talking about. _It was almost as if the man didn’t exist,_ Bond thought to himself. _You would think that he’d be easier to find- his IP address was, at any rate._

Bond finally gave up the chase at about 19:00 to grab something to eat. 

He dined alone in a trattoria near his hotel, a sense of unease settling over him. Bond was perturbed that there was no sign of Argento yet, and he couldn’t seem to forget the way Silva had come onto him earlier in the tailor’s shop.

Bond drank too much at dinner, as per usual, and contemplated picking up a girl at a nearby bar. But his heart wasn’t in it- he was unusually tense tonight. The agent walked somewhat unsteadily back to his hotel and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling rather dissatisfied.

“That’s it, I’m going out,” Bond muttered to himself. Perhaps a night in a _discoteca_ would help bring up his spirits. His mood improving at the idea, Bond quickly changed from his daytime suit into a pair of tight black slacks, a white button-down and a leather jacket. He lovingly picket up his brand-new Sig Sauer handgun and carefully slipped it into his interior breast pocket- after all, a good agent never went anywhere without his gun.

Bond washed his face and raked wet fingers through his hair, mussing it to perfection. _He might be a trained killer, but he still liked to look good._ Bond applied a single spray of his favorite English cologne and surveyed his reflection, smiling at himself like a fool. He was a bit drunk, after all. The agent noted a light stubble of five-o-clock shadow on his jaw and decided to leave it there. Women seemed to like that sort of thing.

It suddenly crossed his mind that he hadn’t had sex in two whole days- a new record of abstinence? Bond hoped that this night might end his unwanted bout of chastity. 

\--

Bond decided to walk to the club. Probably a good idea, as he was planning on getting smashed as soon as he got there. Besides, it was only a few minutes from his hotel.

The discoteca _Palazzo_ was a dimly lit, sensual space with low ceilings and a dance floor that seemed to stretch on forever. It was one of the city’s classier establishments, with several private rooms and an impressively stocked bar.

Bond surveyed the club-goers, who were currently dancing to some bass-heavy Europop remix under the pulsing colored lights. The agent grinned as he spotted a few drunken young women who appeared to be single. _Target sighted._

But first, a drink. The buzz from the copious amounts of scotch he had consumed at dinner was wearing off, and the agent needed a little something to keep him going. Bond casually walked up to the bar and caught the eye of the bartender.  

 _“Vorrei un Negroni, per favore.”_ _[I’d like a Nagroni, please.]_ A radical departure from his usual vodka martini, but today Bond was in Italy. _When in Rome…._

The bartender swiftly shook Bond’s drink with ice and strained it into a cocktail glass, garnishing it with a thick burnt orange peel. “Grazie,” Bond said gratefully as he took a generous swallow of the cold drink. The gin made it bitter, but the flavor was balanced out by the sweetness of the vermouth. _Perfect._

Bond savored his drink, valiantly trying to make eye contact with a nubile brunette who was dancing on the other side of the room. Alas, no luck.

The agent drained the last of his Negroni and set the empty glass back on the bar, knowing that soon he’d be ordering another one. But for now, he was in the mood to dance. Bond stepped away from the bar and began to walk out onto the dance floor, unconsciously stepping in time with the music.

And then he saw him.

Even under the dim lighting of the club, that luminescent white-blonde hair was unmistakable: _it was Silva._

“Shit,” Bond muttered, quickly stepping behind a cluster of dancers to hide himself. But it was too late: Silva had spotted him, and he was crossing the room to greet him with a shark-like smile on his face. “Shit. Shit.”

“James!” Silva said brightly, approaching Bond and giving his shoulder a playful shove. “What are you doing here?”

Bond gave Silva an appraising look before responding, taking in the man’s appearance. He noticed that Silva was dressed somewhat less flamboyantly than earlier, clad in a pair of tightly-fitted black denim pants and a dark red button down that was rolled up the sleeves, exposing his strong, tanned forearms. Bond had to admit that the man looked good.

“Well, I got out of the office a few hours ago,” Bond said lamely, remembering his earlier lie about being an accountant.

“All work and no play makes James a dull boy, yes?” Bond rolled his eyes in response, and Silva grinned at him like a schoolgirl, moving in to take the agent’s wrists in his broad hands.

 “Dance with me.”

“Is that an order?” Bond quipped, meeting the other man’s eyes with a challenging stare.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Silva replied, the playful glint in his eyes betraying the seriousness of his tone.

And then Silva smoothly circled behind him and wrapped his arms lightly around Bond’s waist, moving them both side to side with the crushing bass line.

Bond tensed up initially, unsure how to respond to the other man’s touch. He barely knew this man, and now he was tangled up in his arms in some obscure club? But the lighting was dim and the music was good, and for the moment Bond allowed himself to forget his worries and lose himself in the present.

The music was fast and heavy, and Silva was a good dancer: he melded his body to Bond’s like a glove, and the agent could sense the strength in Silva’s muscles as he rolled his body sinuously against Bond’s own.

Silva leaned in and brushed his lips along the side of Bond’s neck, his breath a pleasant mixture of mint and hard liquor. Bond shivered involuntarily as he felt the other man’s breath tickle his skin, and Silva held him tighter in response. Bond couldn’t help himself: he was actually enjoying this. Silva was strong and warm and smelled good; like fresh soap and cologne, and even if Bond knew nothing about him he couldn’t deny that the man was growing on him.

Silva’s hands were circled firmly around Bond’s hips, but after a few songs had passed the agent felt them gradually travel lower towards his groin. “Behave yourself,” Bond hissed in Silva’s ear as the other man attached his soft lips to the agent’s neck, gently sucking on the skin and travelling tiny kisses down to the collar of Bond’s shirt. Silva chuckled darkly in response and retaliated by rolling a swift hand into Bond’s crotch, causing the agent to straighten up with a gasp.

“James, the things I would do to you…” Silva whispered into Bond’s short-cropped hair as his warm fingers lingered teasingly on the agent’s waistband. “You’d never forget me once we were finished.”

Bond suddenly turned around to face the other man, grabbing him by the hips and roughly pulling him close so that their bodies were pressed flush against each other. The agent rolled his knee into Silva’s now hardening cock, provoking an almost endearing noise that was half surprised laugh, half moan.

Bond leaned into Silva, wrapping his arms around the other man’s tightly muscled back. “You’re so sure of yourself,” he whispered into Silva’s ear, earning an almost imperceptible shudder in response. “Perhaps you’ve underestimated me.”

Then Bond slid a gentle hand onto Silva’s chest and pulled him in for a kiss, the other man tensing initially with surprise but soon returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm. Bond pressed his body hard against Silva’s, sliding up and down to the beat of the music. Silva’s mouth was hot and sweet, and although Bond’s tongue unexpectedly brushed against something smooth and foreign feeling on the roof of the other man’s mouth, the agent dismissed it. _Probably some kind of retainer,_ Bond imagined, smirking at the thought. He pictured Silva with braces.

Bond broke the kiss and nuzzled his face into Silva’s neck, feeling the smooth-shaven skin of his jaw. Silva’s hair was undoubtedly ridiculous, but it felt oddly silky and had a spicy aftershave smell. Inhaling, Bond planted a tiny kiss on Silva’s throat and felt the other man swallow in response.

“Eager, are we?” Silva chuckled as Bond leaned in to nip his lower lip. And then he deftly reached down to cup Bond’s sensitive crotch with one hand, squeezing lightly to provoke a gasp of pleasure. “What do you say we go back to my place, hmm?”

Bond nodded imperceptibly in response and tugged Silva closer to him to whisper in his ear. “I’d like that. But first, another drink.”


	3. Fate

It ended up being several drinks, and as Silva led Bond out of the club and onto the street both men were a bit unsteady on their feet. 

“Hop on,” Silva said with a grin, gesturing to a slick black motorcycle parked at the edge of the curb.

“Are you sure you can drive?” Bond asked hesitantly, but the other man dismissed him with a wave of his palm. “I know these streets like the back of my hand, James. Now come on,” Silva replied, taking the agent by his hand and leading him to the motorcycle. Silva deftly climbed on and motioned Bond to sit behind him, gunning the engine with an impressive roar.

“No helmet, I see,” Bond joked, wrapping his arms around Silva’s pleasantly muscled waist. “Got a death wish?”

“Maybe,” Silva responded with a mad glint in his dark eyes, and gave Bond a tiny squeeze on his knee. “Let’s go.”

Bond held onto the other man tightly as Silva took off through the streets of Rome at a breakneck place, laughing every time they skidded around a sharp corner. The night air was unseasonably cool for August, and Bond took it deeply into his lungs. _This was… exhilarating._ Silva’s body was warm and comfortingly solid against his, and yet there was a certain air of danger about the man that Bond found, well, incredibly sexy.

Bond was enjoying himself so much that he was almost sorry as Silva stopped the motorcycle in front of one of the city’s most expensive hotels, but he soon forgot about it when Silva stepped down and pulled him into a crushing kiss. Bond let out a stifled moan as Silva bit down on his lower lip, pleasure and pain mingling in an intoxicating combination. Bond met the kiss with equal fire, tangling his fingers roughly in Silva’s hair to pull the other man closer to him.

When they broke apart, both men were breathing harshly, their pupils dilated with desire. “Let me show you my room,” Silva said casually, the roughness in his voice betraying his arousal. Bond nodded and followed the other man into the opulent lobby of the hotel.

 _“Buonasera, Signor Silva,”_ the man at the front desk offered politely as the two men crossed the cream-colored marble towards the elevator.

 _“Buonasera, signore,”_ Silva replied, his Italian as smooth and appealing as always.

The two men waited impatiently for the lift to arrive, Silva casting a lewd glance Bond’s way every few seconds. The sexual tension between them was almost electric.

“Nice hotel,” Bond offered, glancing around at the tastefully neutral walls and the enormous crystal chandeliers.

“I’m glad you like it,” Silva said with a smile, his eyes crinkling appealingly at the corners.

Finally the elevator doors opened and the men practically ran inside, Silva slapping the button for the 15th floor with such force that Bond thought he might’ve broken it.

As they slowly ascended, horrible smooth jazz music filled the lift and Bond chuckled at the ridiculousness of the situation. Silva began to laugh too, meeting Bond’s eyes with a playful look. “Sort of kills the mood, doesn’t it?”

Bond smirked in response and turned to face Silva, slowly placing a hand on the man’s chest and tracing up to where the buttons began at his neckline. “Only if we let it.”

“Mr. _Bond_ , how you tease me,” Silva growled, wrapping an arm around the agent’s waist and pulling him down into a dancer’s dip. Bond chuckled at the flamboyancy of the gesture and straightened up, shoving Silva into the elevator wall and pinning him there with each arm on either side of his chest. He captured Silva’s mouth in an unexpectedly gentle kiss, lingering on the man’s full lower lip.

“Mm,” Silva murmured appreciatively, running a hand through Bond’s tousled hair. “I like that.”

_*ding*_

The elevator came to a slow stop and the two men broke apart reluctantly as the doors slid open. Silva took Bond by the hand and led him into the rich gold-hued hallway, both of their shoes making soft clicking noises on the black marble tile.

“Here we are,” Silva said as they stopped in front of Room 1507. He produced an antique-looking key from his pocket (unusual for a hotel, but then again Italians tended to be traditional about this sort of thing) and unlocked the door, swinging it open grandly and gesturing at Bond to go inside. “After you.”

Bond stepped inside hesitantly and flipped on the lights. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he was struck at the rich décor of the hotel room: the floors were covered in plush cream carpeting, and the walls were golden and adorned with gorgeous paintings of scenery in Rome. In the center of the room was a modern glass table and a white leather sofa set. There were two doors off to the side, which Bond assumed had to be the bedroom and bathroom. 

Bond’s appreciative survey of the room was interrupted as Silva snuck up behind him and slipped his arms around the agent’s waist, burying his face in the back of Bond’s neck.

“What do you say to some champagne?” Silva whispered, his warm breath raising goosebumps on Bond’s skin.

“I’d never say no,” Bond replied with a smile, turning around to face Silva and brushing a lock of white-blonde hair behind the other man’s ear in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. Silva smiled warmly and crossed the room to the small bar, producing a bottle of chilled champagne from an ice bucket and popping the cork. “One for you…” he murmured as he poured a generous amount in one glass flute, “…And one for me.”

As Silva readied the drinks, Bond casually slipped off his leather jacket and neatly placed it on the back of a chair. Silva accidentally stumbling upon his Sig Sauer might ruin the whole “accountant” image he had going.

“Thank you,” Bond said graciously as Silva handed him a glass, taking a small sip of the refreshingly bubbly drink. “That’s good.”

“I like it too. Although I am myself partial to liquor,” Silva smiled, taking his own taste of the champagne. “Shall we go outside?”

Silva opened a pair of French doors on the other side of the room and led Bond out onto a spacious balcony that overlooked the whole city of Rome.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Silva mused quietly as they surveyed the glittering expanse of high-rises and shining golden lights.

“It is,” Bond replied, a gust of warm air ruffling his hair. “A toast?” he proposed, turning to face Silva and lifting his glass with a wry grin on his lips.

“And what, or whom shall we toast?” Silva replied, his eyes dancing with humor.

Bond paused before answering, looking out on the city lights again with a secret smile lingering on his face.

“A toast… to us. To the men we may or may not claim to be,” the agent finally answered, his cool blue eyes searching Silva’s dark ones with a measure of seriousness.

“To us,” Silva agreed with a dark smile, tapping his glass to Bond’s own with a muted _clink_. “And to this city, which has brought us together under some mysterious turn of fate.”

Bond gave Silva a knowing look in response and drained the rest of his champagne, setting the flute down on the balcony railing. Silva followed suit and fixed the agent with a highly charged look that was half lust, half… something else entirely. The man was impossible to read.

“James,” Silva said quietly, sliding a possessive arm around the agent’s waist.

“Join me in the bedroom?”


	4. Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is NSFW :)

Bond followed Silva inside, attempting to look casual but in reality on the edge of exploding with pent-up excitement and desire. As the two men entered Silva’s dimly lit, warm-hued bedroom, Bond couldn’t take it any more. With a tiny moan he shoved Silva roughly against the wall and crushed his mouth against the other man’s, kissing him desperately. Silva smiled against his mouth and wrapped his arms around Bond’s waist, holding him in an almost protective embrace. 

The agent feverishly began unbuttoning Silva’s shirt, exposing the tanned, muscular chest that lay beneath. Bond noted with some surprise that the other man’s chest appeared to be covered with old scars of varying shapes and sizes. Something terrible had obviously happened to him. Perhaps he had been in some kind of accident? But as Bond looked closer, he realized that some of the scars were in uniformly straight lines. Too perfect to be accidental. There were circular ones, too- _Cigarette burns_ , Bond’s mind supplied him. The agent decided that he didn’t want to know.

Bond realized that Silva had stiffened beneath him, most likely waiting for a reaction to the scars. “It’s okay,” Bond whispered, meeting Silva’s inscrutable eyes. The agent couldn’t be sure, but he imagined that he saw a deep, unforgettable hurt within. “I like them.”

Silva smiled, looking almost relieved. He allowed Bond to finish removing his shirt and began kissing him again with renewed passion while his hands were busy undoing the agent’s belt. Silva grabbed Bond’s hips and grinded the agent’s body into his own, eliciting a gasp from the other man as their rapidly growing erections rubbed together.

“Take off your clothes,” Silva growled, breaking the kiss. Bond stepped back with a devilish smile on his face and began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his defined pectoral muscles. Silva bit his lip appreciatively as the agent tossed the shirt to the carpet, his strong arms and abdominals rippling with even the slightest movement.

Bond then slipped off his pants and stared at Silva challengingly, the outline of his now completely hard cock visible through his tight grey briefs. “You first.”

“So headstrong, James,” Silva murmured, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled in a way that was really rather endearing. “As you wish.”

Silva unbuckled his belt, never breaking eye contact with Bond as he did so. He tantalizingly slid down his tight dark pants, revealing a pair of black briefs that were stretched tightly with the heavy length of his swollen erection. His eyes heavy-lidded with desire, Silva hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down in one swift motion. Bond swallowed at the sight of the other man’s thick, painfully hard cock, his throat suddenly dry with arousal.

Bond gave Silva an approving smile and fluidly shed his own constricting briefs, his cock throbbing as its impressive veined length was exposed to the other man’s gaze. Silva exhaled appreciatively as he took in Bond’s body, noticing that the agent’s cock was almost painfully hard and beaded with pre-come at the tip.

Silva stalked towards Bond, an almost predatory glint in his eye. In one quick movement he shoved the other man on top of the richly blanketed bed and climbed on top of him, rolling his hips so that his pulsing erection ground against Bond’s own. Bond moaned and canted his hips upwards in response, wrapping his arms around Silva’s back and pulling him closer to his chest. Silva reached a deft hand between them to clasp both of their straining cocks together in his palm, groaning in pleasure at the combination of heat and friction. Bond let out a whimper and bucked into Silva’s stroking hand, raking his fingernails down the other man’s back and feeling ridges of old scar tissue beneath them. Silva moaned and leaned in to suck on Bond’s lower lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. And then he moved down and began to kiss Bond’s chest, lingering on the agent’s nipples and finally stopping at the tantalizing trail of blond hair that began beneath his navel. Bond writhed beneath him, almost unable to bear the painful waves of ecstasy that were crashing over him.

And then with a confident smile Silva took Bond’s full cock in his mouth, easily swallowing the agent to his hilt. Bond gasped as a jolt of pleasure coursed through his body, involuntarily bucking upwards into Silva’s full lips. Silva slowly moved up and down, swirling his tongue around the tip and licking the slit with masterful ease. Bond shuddered as Silva moved down on him again and began to hum, the vibrations at once maddening and ridiculously pleasurable.

“Jesus,” Bond panted, resisting the urge to grab Silva by the hair and fuck his mouth until it left bruises, “I’m close. I’m so close.”

With one last swipe of the tongue that elicited a strangled mewl from the man beneath him, Silva released Bond’s cock with a wet popping noise and wiped his swollen lips on his arm. “God, you’re good at that. Shit,” Bond gasped, running a hand through Silva’s now-tousled hair in gratitude. Silva grinned modestly and planted a soft kiss on Bond’s chiseled chest, which was now covered with a thin layer of sweat.

“Silva,” Bond said suddenly, meeting the other man’s gaze with a new intensity in his bright blue eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Silva couldn’t disguise the grin that immediately sprung onto his face, but it was soon replaced with a hesitant expression. “James, are you sure? Is this your first time?”

“ _No_ ,” Bond chuckled, somewhat charmed by the other man’s concern. There had been many other times, actually. They were just insignificant when compared with the number of women that he had slept with.

Silva’s smile returned, this time wider. “I thought that it wouldn’t be.” Pushing himself playfully off the other man, he opened the nightstand drawer to produce a condom and a small bottle of lube. Silva deftly rolled the rubber over his impossibly hard length and popped open the bottle cap, preparing to dispense an amount into his palm. But Bond stopped him, taking the bottle himself and pouring a generous dollop into his own hand. “Let me do it.”

Pleasantly surprised, Silva sat back as Bond slicked up his fingers with lube and prepared to open himself up, the agent’s eyes slitted with anticipation. Silva bit back a moan of desire as he watched Bond slide two fingers inside himself, shuddering at the sudden sensation. Bond bit his lip as he slowly fucked himself, soon adding a third finger and finally a fourth. Impossibly aroused, Silva resisted the urge to touch himself as he watched the man before him writhe in ecstasy atop his own skilled fingers.

“Now, Silva. Please,” Bond gritted out between moans as he slid his fingers out of himself, feeling suddenly empty.

Silva grinned his shark’s smile and crawled atop the agent again, leaning in to trail his lips along the Bond’s neck and whisper in his ear. “Tell me how you want me.”

Bond suddenly grabbed the other man by the shoulders and traded positions with him, pulling Silva down onto the sheets and straddling his chest in one graceful movement. “I want you like this.”

Silva’s dark eyes blackened in arousal as he realized the implications of Bond’s words.

With a filthy smile, Bond reopened the bottle of lube and quickly slicked up Silva’s erection, playfully squeezing the tip and causing the other man’s hips to buck up violently. Silva moaned desperately, almost shaking in anticipation.

“Shh,” Bond whispered, raising up his body to hover over Silva’s throbbing cock. “I’m here.” Teasingly, the agent paused with the tip of Silva’s manhood pressed against his entrance. Then with one smooth movement he slid his hips downwards, taking Silva’s full length inside him. Bond groaned in unbearable pleasure at the sensation of being filled with thick, throbbing heat, his own painfully hard cock twitching as he began to slowly roll his hips up and down.

Silva’s eyes were shut tightly as he let out an unintelligible stream of Spanish curses. “ _Cristo_ ,” he murmured as he felt Bond clench around his thick girth, taking the entire length of his cock inside his body. Silva began to buck his hips upward, eliciting a strangled moan from Bond as he hit the agent’s sensitive prostate with every stroke. Bond raked his fingernails down Silva’s chest, feeling his orgasm quickly approaching him.

“God. Don’t stop,” Bond gritted out as Silva continued to thrust within him, a flare of ecstasy slicing through his body with every powerful stroke. His eyes heavy-lidded with desire, Silva reached up and grabbed Bond’s throbbing cock with one deft hand, flicking his thumb over the tip as the agent let out a gasp of surprise.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bond spat as Silva’s warm hand pumped his erection. The sensations of being stroked and completely filled at the same time were too much for him: with a groan, Bond felt a hot tingle shoot from his balls to the tip of the length. Bond’s orgasm overtook him in a sudden burst of ecstasy, and with a strangled shout the agent began to shoot hot ropes of come over Silva’s scarred, muscular chest.

Silva moaned at the sight of the agent writhing above him, his cock pulsing gorgeously with every spurt of release. Bond clenched down like a vise on his length, and that was enough to push Silva over the edge: with a shudder, he came deeply inside Bond, his cock throbbing wildly as he continued to thrust inside the agent’s tight heat.

Finally Silva was still, and Bond gently slipped his length out of him and slumped over on the other man’s sticky chest. “Bloody hell,” Bond chuckled as he gave Silva a tiny kiss on his sweaty collarbone. Both men were breathing roughly with exertion.

Silva buried his nose in Bond’s thoroughly mussed hair and trailed a languorous hand down the agent’s back. “That was… special, no?”

Bond smiled against Silva’s chest and squeezed one of his hands in response. Nothing needed to be said, really: they both knew. 


	5. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter, but I didn't want to combine it with the last chapter. It's super cute though!

After an hour or so of lying intertwined in the damp bedsheets, Silva finally suggested that they rinse off in the bathroom before calling it a night. Bond agreed, and to his pleasant surprise Silva filled the huge Jacuzzi with hot water instead of opting for a simple shower. Bond laughed as Silva dumped a generous quantity of sweet smelling bubble bath in the tub, instantly generating a ridiculous amount of fluffy white foam.

Silva poured them each another glass of champagne, prowling about the suite in the nude with absolutely no sense of shame. The two men slipped beneath the hot water, each letting out a sigh as the Jacuzzi jets massaged out the tension in their backs.

“This is my idea of a vacation,” Bond sighed as he took a cool sip of the sparkling champagne.

Silva scooted closer to him in the water and playfully flicked a chunk of foam at Bond’s face, the bubbles sticking to the agent’s chin like a beard. “I agree.”

Bond traced a finger through the suds on Silva’s chest, feeling the ridges of scar tissue that added unexpected texture to the man’s otherwise smooth, tan skin.

Silva closed his eyes for a moment and leaned into the touch, tilting back his head so that the tantalizing curve of his Adam’s apple was exposed. Seizing the moment, Bond pressed his mouth to the vulnerable skin of Silva’s throat, licking drops of water off of his jawline. Bond gently sucked the skin just above a pulse point, feeling the heightened beating of the other man’s heart.

Bond slipped a deft hand beneath the soapy surface of the water and in between the other man’s legs, sliding his hand down Silva’s hardening length to palm his balls.

Silva shuddered beneath the agent’s touch and gently cupped Bond’s chin with one hand, lifting the other man’s face upwards to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

Silva pulled Bond in for a tender kiss, simultaneously wrapping his arms around the agent’s waist to pull him halfway onto his lap. Bond smiled, his impossibly blue eyes darkening with arousal.

As Silva wrapped a strong hand around Bond’s swelling cock and began to expertly stroke him, Bond groaned and steadied himself against the other man’s chest, his vision almost blurring with the intense pleasure.

_This night was far from over._

\--

Several hours later, the two men lay entangled on top of Silva’s sheets, fast asleep. Bond’s head was tucked into the crook of Silva’s neck, a tiny puddle of drool forming on his collarbone. Both of Silva’s long arms were wrapped around Bond’s torso, and his white-blonde hair was splayed in a hundred directions on the pillow beneath him.

They were completely exhausted: earlier in the Jacuzzi, Silva had tantalizingly stroked Bond’s cock until the agent was begging for relief, finally bringing him to climax with one deft squeeze at the tip of Bond’s throbbing length. They kissed again in the water, the pearly strings of Bond’s come mingling with the soap bubbles.

After drying off, Bond led Silva back to the bedroom and tied his wrists to the headboard with a torn-up pillowcase. The agent then proceeded to touch every inch of Silva’s body except for his painfully hard cock, only relenting when the man was practically convulsing with sexual frustration. Bond sucked Silva off until he came with a muffled groan, swallowing every drop of his hot release. 

Bond finally untied Silva and they simply lay there for a while, kissing and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. And that was where they fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, wrapped in each other’s arms. 


	6. Bombshell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter <3 I hope you guys liked it!

Silva woke up first at around 11, smiling at the sight of Bond’s sleeping form tucked snugly against him. For several minutes he was motionless, afraid to wake up the other man. But then Bond made an odd snoring noise, and Silva couldn’t prevent a chuckle from escaping his lips. Bond grunted, the vibrations of laughter rousing him from his sleep.

“Good morning,” Silva murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. Smiling, he brushed a stray lock of hair from Bond’s forehead.

“Morning,” Bond mumbled, looking up groggily at the other man. He slowly rolled off Silva’s chest, a decidedly unsexy string of drool clinging to his lower lip. Silva laughed and wiggled backwards so that his back was propped against the headboard.

“What do you say we grab some breakfast, hmm?”

Bond rubbed his eyes and nodded in response. “Fine by me.”

Stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan, Silva swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Good. We should probably get dressed first, though,” he smirked, glancing down at his completely naked body.

“I think I’d prefer it if you stayed that way,” Bond quipped, still outstretched on the sheets.

“You would,” Silva chuckled, and leaned over the bed again to plant a tiny kiss on Bond’s lips.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Silva said somewhat reluctantly as he straightened up and turned towards the bathroom.

“That’s fine,” Bond replied, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. “I’ll get dressed.”

\--

It wasn’t just a minute (as Bond suspected), but after about half an hour Silva emerged from the bathroom at last, immaculately coiffed and wearing a crisp linen suit.

“Finally,” Bond groaned, rolling his eyes at the other man.

Bond was wearing the same clothes from last night- a little wrinkled, of course, but it would have to do. He had retrieved his leather jacket from the back of the chair and was relieved to find that his Sig Sauer was in the pocket, just as he had left it.

Silva shot Bond a scandalized look. “What? It takes time to look this good.”

“To each his own,” Bond sighed, zipping up his jacket. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

The two men left the hotel room and headed for the elevator, Silva smirking as Bond’s stomach growled noisily. As they headed down towards the lobby, Silva teased Bond relentlessly, pushing him up against the wall and gently wedging a knee between the agent’s legs. By the time they reached the first floor, Bond was completely disheveled-looking and Silva was sporting a prominent hickey just underneath his right ear.

The doors opened and Silva strolled out confidently, smoothing out an imperceptible wrinkle in his jacket. Bond trailed behind him, painfully aware of the flush that had settled over his face. 

“ _Buongiorno_ ,” Silva called over his shoulder to the counter man as they stepped out the front doors of the hotel. The day was bright and warm, and the streets of Rome were bustling with activity.

“I know a nice little place a few minutes from here,” Silva said breezily as he swung a leg over his motorcycle, Bond clambering on behind him. “Anywhere is fine with me,” Bond replied, wrapping his arms securely around the other man’s waist. Silva petted Bond’s leg affectionately and then started up the engine, skidding away from the curb fast enough to stir up a small cloud of dust. 

As Silva drove in his usual maniacal manner, Bond tucked his head onto the other man’s back and inhaled deeply. He imagined that he could detect a bit of his own scent lingering with the other man’s sweet-smelling cologne, and a tiny smile crossed his lips.

They arrived at the _bar_ (a somewhat misleading name, since in Italy a _bar_ served primarily coffee and breakfast items) in only a few minutes. Silva parked his motorcycle on the edge of the street and the two men sat down at a small outdoor table.

The weather was perfect, and Bond let out a sigh of contentment as a waiter approached them. 

_“Buongiorno, signori. Qualosa da bere?” [Good morning, sirs. Something to drink?]_

_“Vorremmo due caffé, per favore. E due cornetti,”_ Silva responded with a smile, charming as usual. _[We’d like two coffees, please. And two croissants.]_

The waiter nodded and returned inside, leaving the two men alone together.

Silva closed his eyes blissfully, soaking in the sun. “Isn’t Rome wonderful?” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I only wish I could come here more often. But certain obligations make it… difficult for me,” he finished cryptically, opening his strange dark eyes again to focus on his companion.

Bond paused, unsure of how to interpret Silva’s last comment. Finally, however, his curiosity overwhelmed him.

“You never told me what you do for a living,” Bond said casually, fixing Silva with a meaningful stare.

A small smile played on Silva’s lips, and he examined his clasped hands for a while before responding. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

Bond let out an exasperated sigh. “And?”

Silva chuckled and opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment their waiter returned with their pastries and two steaming cups of black coffee.

 _“Grazie mille,”_ Silva said happily, tearing off a piece of his _cornetto_ and popping it in his mouth. Bond took a sip of his coffee, savoring the bitter taste.

“Good?” Silva asked playfully, bumping Bond’s shoulder with his fist. “Although perhaps you prefer tea. You are English, yes?”

Bond shrugged, grinning. “I’d say you’re right about that.”

For a while the two men ate and drank in silence, until Bond’s smile faded and was replaced with a suspicious look.

“So earlier, you were saying?” the agent pressed on, his bright blue eyes suddenly serious.

Silva let out an indignant huff. “You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

Bond shook his head and took another sip of his drink. “I’m afraid not.”

Silva’s next words were casual, almost flippant. “Well, I don’t blame you. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t asked me, actually. It’s in your nature... as an MI-6 agent.”

Bond choked on his coffee. Silva chuckled as the agent sputtered, trying to regain his composure.

“How… how did you know that?” Bond asked, too dumbfounded to produce a more elegant response.

Silva just smirked. “I have my resources, hmm? But I suppose it’s only fair that I let you know a little about me. Since I know _everything_ about you.”

“I’m not actually here on vacation. That was a lie, obviously,” Silva continued happily, obviously enjoying this. “The truth is, I had a bit of business to take care of here. Concerning MI-6. Concerning _you_ , actually- or rather, the reason why you’re here in Rome.”

For a moment Bond’s face contorted in confusion. But then suddenly, it dawned on him.

“You know who Raffaele Argento is,” the agent whispered, almost unbelievingly.

Silva threw back his head and laughed. “James, I must say, I feel that you’ve let me down! Your deduction skills are rather unimpressive.”

Bond stared at him blankly, the piece of _cornetto_ in his mouth suddenly dry and tasteless.

Silva’s next words were infuriatingly patronizing, as if he was speaking to a child. “James. Oh, James. I don’t _know_ Argento. I _am_ Argento,” he said grandly, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression on his face.

“You…” Bond faltered, completely at a loss for words.

“It was only a little game of mine. Although I admit, it’s always so much more fun when I’m met with a more impressive opposition!” Silva goaded, a smug smile settling on his lips. “You really think anyone would be so dim as to leave such an easily traced internet trail behind them, hmm? Absolutely not. But it is _so_ delicious that I fooled you." 

Silva began to rise, stretching his arms above him in a display of mock languor. “Let me get something straight. If I really wanted to break into the MI6 server, it would take me five minutes. Not a month. Really, James, your security is atrocious,” he added, shooting the agent a playful look. “No, I don’t concern myself with such trivialities. I’ve…how do you say it? --Oh, I’ve got bigger fish to fry,” he concluded with a smirk, producing a few euros from his pocket and carelessly flinging them on the table.

Silva began to walk away at an infuriatingly lazy pace, but not before he tossed one final barb over his shoulder. “Say hello to Mummy for me.”

Bond leapt up, reaching into his jacket for his Sig Sauer--- but what? _It was gone._

Silva laughed, and without turning around he pulled Bond’s gun out of his pocket and waved it tantalizingly in the air.

“You--- you bastard!” Bond spat out, filled simultaneously with rage and embarrassment.

“So long, Bond,” Silva called out as he hopped on his motorcycle, obnoxiously gunning the engine. “Until we meet again, yes? And don’t try to follow me. I _will_ shoot you- with your own gun! Wouldn’t that be humiliating?”

And then he was gone, speeding through the streets of Rome, and Bond knew that he would never catch him.

Bond stood there for a moment, feeling absolutely cheated. Sleeping with the enemy: that was a new low. He slowly sat back down at the table, unconsciously patting the empty space in his pocket where his gun had been only minutes ago. _Before the cocky son-of-a-bitch nicked it off him._

Bond took a sip of his coffee. It was cold. The agent chuckled with a slow shake of his head, realizing that a strange feeling was descending over him- a feeling that he had never experienced before in his life.

_It was the feeling of being beaten at his own game._

_-fine-_

 

 


End file.
